Sylara Windwhisper counted the arrows left in her quiver. Four. She had fired the rest helping two knights she had never been asked to help. She crouched at the tree line above the inn and watched the warm windows below. For three days she had watched these men. She had scouted every exit, mapped every path, and fought beside them when the odds turned bad. But no one had said the word she needed. No one had said stay. The door opened. Sir Aldric Brightblade stepped onto the porch, armor dull in the lantern light. Sir Rowen Sunshine followed, a sun stitched on his chest. They spoke low and did not look up at the woods. Sylara knew that look. It was the look of men planning the next ride without her. She should have left then. She always left before she was told to go. But her feet carried her down the slope instead, into the lantern light, where the two knights turned. Aldric's hand moved to his sword. Then he saw her face and stopped. "The elf," Rowen said. "You put three arrows in the men at the creek. I counted." "I counted your exits," Sylara said. "You left two open. I closed them." Aldric studied her. He did not soften it. "We ride south at dawn. The road is three days. Men will try to kill us on it." "I know," she said. "I heard them in the trees last night. Riders. Not yours." Rowen glanced at Aldric. "She heard them before our scout did." Sylara made herself say it plain. The watching was done. "You have never asked me to come. I have fought beside you and slept in your woods and I am still a stranger you can leave behind. I want to know. Do you ride with me, or do I go?" The porch went quiet. A log shifted in the inn behind them. Aldric looked at Rowen. Rowen did not look away. Some decision passed between the two men without a word. "I don't ask for help twice," Aldric said. "So I'll say it once. We need eyes that see in the dark and hands that close the exits we miss." He held out his arm, the way knights do. "Ride with us, Windwhisper." Sylara looked at the offered arm. For three days she had studied these men to learn if they were worth joining. She had never once asked if they would have her. Now they had. She gripped his forearm. His glove was cold. Her grip was steady. "At dawn," she said. Rowen nodded and turned back to the door. "Then rest. The road south is worse than the creek. The men hunting us are better paid." Sylara stepped inside the inn for the first time. The door closed behind her. She was no longer watching from the dark. She was one of them now, riding into whatever waited on that southern road.